Choosing Their Confessions
by Elske
Summary: A Lassiter & O'Hara friendship fic, set during  and after "True Grits", AU afterwards. 33 1/3 percent slashier than the actual show! With Shassie slash and Lauren/Juliet femmeslash upcoming, and exploring the partnership and friendship between Carlton and Juliet. :
1. of flexibility & weighing options

They're driving in the car, on a search for witnesses to interrogate, and Carlton turns to Juliet, says – apropos of nothing – "You never answered my question earlier."

Juliet gets a confused look on her face. "Carlton, what are you talking about?"

"When I asked which would be a problem: dating a woman or dating a convict." He clears his throat, as if embarrassed to ask the question again.

She shakes her head. "I could never date a convict, Carlton, I don't know how _you_ do. It's sort of…against everything that we stand for, everything that we _do_. Especially a convict that tried to kill you."

"She didn't try to kill me!" He protests, far too quickly. A long silent moment passes, and then Carlton adds, "So the woman thing, that wouldn't bother you?"

Juliet groans. "I am SO going to KILL Shawn Spencer."

"Told you you were going to break up," and Carlton is smiling a smug smile.

"No, it's…I can't believe he told you that, I swore him to secrecy and if he's told you…" She sighs, presses fingertips to her closed eyelids. "Look, it was just one time, back at the academy in Miami…I'd just been dumped, she'd just been accepted for detective training, it was a party in her honor…I'd overheard people teasing her for having a crush on me…I was lonely and there was a lot of sangria and…"

Carlton's eyes are very wide and he's having a hard time focusing on the road. "Shawn, um, Shawn never told me that."

"…oh." Juliet's voice is very very small. "Well, I think most people are inherently flexible, anyway. It's no big deal."

"That's what Marlowe said. Of course, Marlowe also said it doesn't count as cheating if it's with another girl."

"I think she's wrong on the second part."

"I think we're splitting up." Carlton sighs. "At least I didn't manage to get her that early release, she'd be awfully lonely without her new girlfriend."

"I think she's right on the first part," Juliet adds, and she's blushing. "I couldn't help but notice, Carlton…why are you so eager that Shawn and I break up? Just to set me up with someone in the women's correctional facility?"

"She's not a convict, by the way, and no, that's not the reason, O'Hara!"

"Who's not a convict?"

"The person Marlowe and I were thinking of. My sister – do you remember her? – she's recently divorced, you made quite an impression on her when she visited, we were just brainstorming, that's all."

"Oh." It's Juliet's turn to blush, and she's thinking about Lauren Lassiter, as dark haired and blue-eyed stunning as her older brother, only much, _much_ quicker to smile. "She likes me?"

"She goes on about how capable you are. And how beautiful."

"Does the capable always come first?" Juliet wonders, and Carlton nods, and that's refreshing , Juliet finds herself thinking, because if Shawn were asked to come up with a list of adjectives to describe her, she doubts _capable_ would be on it.

"Do you think most people are inherently flexible, Carlton?" Juliet asks, watches as Carlton flushes.

"Look, it's just like you said, something that happened a long time ago. You told me your secret, I told you mine, and now we're even." Carlton slinks down, a bit, in the driver's seat. "Over and done, just like you said."

"I didn't quite say that." Juliet frowns, and they drive in quiet as she thinks: puts together a bunch of remembrances like puzzle pieces and finally comes up with something.

"Carlton. You have a thing for Shawn, don't you?"

"That! That! It's preposterous, it's…shit." It's a good thing they're at a red light because he crumples, forehead against the steering wheel. "If you tell anyone, I'll shoot you in your sleep, O'Hara." And then the threatening voice gives way to something smaller, almost childlike pathetic, "It's not my fault, he's just so…well, I don't have to tell you, you're his girlfriend."

"At the moment," Juliet says, closing her own eyes, remembering Lauren Lassiter's smile. "At the moment."


	2. of breakups & alcohol

[[Author's Notes:

I was anticipating just leaving this a one-shot, but your reviews convinced me to change that! It'll be AU as of the next episode, but that's all right, I don't mind in the least.

Dear readers: thank you for making this horrible week a bit better by reading, favoriting, and reviewing my fic. Special thanks to my reviewers, fmapreshwab (oh, you _know_ that's right, and then they spend the next day at the Psych office googling images of the girl in question) and islashlove (continue, you say? Your wish is my command!)

This chapter is dedicated to my wine-snob ex (who I still love in a strange sort of way) and a certain bottle of 10 year madeira that toasted the best night of my life (I love you, _chere fille_, even though you're never going to read this either. _Vous et nul autre. 3_)

Anyway. Enjoy chapter 2 of this. More to come, &c, &c.

H&Ks, Elske.]]

"Choosing Their Confessions"

Chapter two: of breakups and alcohol

"But Gus wouldn't know because Gus doesn't have a girlfriend!" Shawn teases, elbowing Gus in the side, ignoring the sudden hurt look that crosses his best friend's face, and as far as Juliet is concerned: that is the absolute last straw.

She shakes her head. "And, you know what, Shawn? Neither do you, not anymore. I can't…I can't take this, Shawn, I'm tired of being some kind of, of, figurehead! A symbol of your success, and I'm not a symbol, I'm a person Shawn. And you know what else? I'm a good cop. I'm a very good cop. I worked for YEARS to be a good cop and you just want me to be some kind of sidekick for your psychic shenanigans and I'm sick of it." She shakes her head, blond waves of hair freeing themselves from the messy bun, falling in her face, and she shoves the hair back with a irritated flip of her hand. "Have a good night, Gus. Part of me wants to wish you get a girlfriend as soon as possible so you can lord her over Shawn, but I'd like to think that you respect people more than that. Bye, Shawn," and she turns on her heel, scoops up her purse, angry-walks out the front door of the Psych office and sinks down into the front seat of her car, still shaking with adrenaline.

This was either the best decision she's ever made in her life, or quite possibly the worst, but what's done is done, she thinks as she fumbles in her purse for her car keys with shaking hands.

She wants a drink. And she doesn't want to drink it alone. And she's pretty sure that after that display with Shawn and Gus, the only friend she's got left is one Carlton Lassiter.

So on the way to the wine store, she scoops up her cellular, dials speed dial three, listens to it ring four times before Carlton answers it.

"Lassiter."

"Carlton! It's me. Um, Juliet."

"I know. Your name came up on my caller ID. Why are you calling?"

She pulls her little green car into a parking-space in front of the Wine Seller, cuts off the ignition. "I just broke up with Shawn."

"I'm…sorry?" Carlton sounds completely confused, out of sorts, like he has no idea what to say, and he probably doesn't, Juliet thinks. (After all, he's the only man she's ever met to confess the obvious truth that he never knows what any woman wants, ever.)

"And Marlowe just dumped you."

"Thanks for the reminder," he mutters, and Juliet rolls her eyes, despite the fact that over the phone it's a completely insignificant gesture.

"I'm not usually one to turn to a bottle, Carlton, but I think getting good and drunk is just exactly what one is supposed to do in a situation like this. And I don't want to do it alone."

"Now that you mention it, there's a bottle of Chivas in the cupboard that seems to be calling my name."

"I'm getting some wine. And then I'll be over, okay?"

"You know where I live?" There's a sudden paranoid tone in his voice, and Juliet sighs.

"No, actually, I'll need directions." She finds the notepad in her purse, takes down the meticulous directions to Carlton's house, promises three times that she'll NEVER tell anyone else where he lives, and finally hangs up the phone.

She slinks into the wine store – trying to be certain that Thursdays are still her wine-snob ex's nights off – then straightens up , finds her way to the madeira, picks up a heavy green bottle of Portuguese 10-year. It's a hefty sum of money but worth every penny, she decides, then returns to her car, follows the round-about directions to Lassiter's condo.

She rings the doorbell, and Carlton answers almost immediately. His hair is a bit disheveled, he's holding the sealed bottle of whiskey in one hand and the television remote in the other. "Are we going to have to talk about our feelings or can we just watch the crime channel and get drunk?"

"Please, the second option, _please_."

Carlton nods, moves out of the doorway to let Juliet in through the door. She's not surprised that her partner's house is as bland and monochrome as his style of dress – the only spot of color is a red knit afghan across a silvery grey sofa.

"I don't have any wine glasses. Is a coffee mug all right?" Carlton calls from the kitchen, and Juliet reaches up to take the pins out of her hair, because they're suddenly stabbing her scalp in all the wrong places.

"It's fine," she calls back, and settles herself in the corner of the sofa with the red blanket.

"Cheers," Carlton says, presenting her with her glass. They clink coffee mugs, settle in to watch a marathon of Dateline, have a few cop-type arguments, invent a drinking game that makes life very, very entertaining.

Hours later, Carlton is snoring on the couch and Juliet is considering following his example, when the doorbell rings.

"Carlton," she says, nudging at his shoulder. "Carlton, do I, do you, do we answer it?"

The only response she gets is snoring, so she manages to get to her unsteady feet, crosses the swaying room to the front door, opens it with a grand gesture, and then falls dramatically right into the startled arms of Lauren Lassiter.


	3. of perfectly innocent sleepovers

[[Author's Notes:

So I was being good and doing my English homework, and then the radio started playing Rufus Wainwright singing "Hallelujah" and if there's anything that gets me writing the slash love, it's Rufus singing "Hallelujah".

Although this chapter is perfectly innocent, I swear!

Thank you a million to my reviewers: islashlove (you're welcome!), Skimming33, Ferio Wind (yes! It's like you're reading my mind! With the growlygrowly manhandling, that's upcoming!), Ky, Torchil, and The Last Eggs […] (hope you're not dead of cliffhanger, here is more, with 50% Lauriet!)

H&Ks, Elske]]

Chapter 3: Of Perfectly Innocent Sleepovers

Juliet feels herself stumble and she's falling dying and then she feels the near-stranger's arms tighten around her and then she's being set back on her feet, safe on dry land, and there's something disappointing when Lauren Lassiter lets go.

"I didn't know Carlton had company," Lauren murmurs, and Juliet's eyes go very wide.

"I'm not _that_ kind of company, if that's what you meant, I mean, it's strictly platonic between us, it turned out we both needed a drink."

"From the looks of it several," Lauren says, and she's smiling, and it's such a nice smile it makes Juliet think about how it's a shame Carlton doesn't smile more. "You're Juliet?"

Juliet nods, then wishes she hadn't, because the room starts to spin with her sudden movement.

"I'm Lauren," the other woman says, and then she's full-on grinning. "Juliet, did you just drink my brother under the table?"

"Nah, he's still on the sofa," says Juliet, and Lauren giggles.

"Oh, you're a _funny_ drunk. I love funny drunks. Seriously, though, I'm impressed: I've never met anyone who could keep up with Carlton, let alone be still standing while he's passed out." Lauren takes a step closer to the sofa, reaches out to nudge her brother's shoulder. "Oi. Carly."

Carlton mutters something incoherent, grabs for the blanket and covers his head with it, turns over and snuggles himself back into sleep.

Lauren rolls her eyes. "If this doesn't work, nothing will," she tells Juliet conspiratorially. "Carlton Lassiter!" Her voice has gone higher, shriller, in obvious imitation of someone else. "Carlton Lassiter, your queer and unspeakable habits are bringing disgrace upon your entire household!"

There is silence, punctuated only by Carlton's snoring.

"Well. If going over all Mom on him doesn't work, nothing will." Lauren turns back to Juliet, smiles a soft smile. "There's no way I'm letting you drive home, little girl. Do you want to share the sofa with Carly here – I don't think that'd be very comfortable, mind – or you can come to bed."

"Bed," Juliet answers, far too quickly, seeing how Carlton is sprawling all over every inch of the sofa.

"That's what I figured. Besides, you might get sick, I want to keep an eye on you. Sleepover it is. Come on." She takes a half-full bottle of mineral water from her purse, hands it to Juliet. "Drink this, it'll help come morning. Come on," and she starts to walk down the hallway.

Juliet is busy staring, transfixed, at the blue glass bottle Lauren has just handed her.

"Come on, little girl," and Juliet thinks the nickname is funny because she's at least a few years older then Lauren, but the second time she obeys and follows the other woman down the hall to the bedroom.

"We'll be sharing, but don't worry, my brother's bed's big enough for a harem. Or the entire army of a very small peaceable nation. See, the bitch – that's his ex, Victoria – she didn't like to be touched in her sleep, and Carlton likes to cuddle and the only solution was to buy the Biggest Bed Ever. I got dragged along furniture shopping. It was gross." She rolls her eyes. "You don't mind sharing, do you?"

Juliet looks at the blue glass bottle – it's so pretty, as blue as Lauren and Carlton's eyes ! – and then she looks at Lauren and she thinks about what Carlton had told her about Lauren. And she realizes that Lauren doesn't know that she knows, and so it's all perfectly innocent. "Nope," she says, fumbling the lid off of the waterbottle, taking a deep drink.

"Good." Lauren, still in her clothes, has climbed up the platform to the bed, is hesitating watching Juliet.

She sets the bottle down and then, unselfconsciously ,steps out of her jeans, leaves them in a puddle on the floor. She reaches behind her to unfasten her bra, and then she's taken that off too, dropped it in the pile with her jeans.

"Okay, then, " mutters Lauren, and there's something maybe a bit nervous in her voice, but she steps off of the platform and into the attached bathroom, emerges clad in one of Carlton's oversized tee-shirts with the logo of the SBPD emblazoned on it.

When Juliet sees that, she giggles, steps forward, close enough to touch Lauren. "You're so silly, you're not a cop," and she's reaching out to trace the outline of the badge on Lauren's chest. "I'm the cop. We should trade shirts!"

Lauren's eyes have drifted closed, and there's a hint of a blush on her cheeks and she looks down as Juliet traces the logo on her chest, over and over again. "I think we'll be fine in these," she mutters, waits for Juliet to finish another loop of the stylized badge, then reaches out to grab her hand. "Come on, bedtime for you, little girl."

Lauren helps Juliet up the step to Carlton's bed, and then tucks her in with half the blankets. "Carlton is going to be so furious with us in the morning," she says, conspiratorially. "I forget which number it is, but this is definitely breaking one of his House Rules."

"Good," says Juliet, stretching out, and it's the nicest bed she's ever been in. "Lauren, invite me for sleepovers All The Time."

Lauren grins. "Sure thing, little girl, sure thing." She reaches over and turns out the light on the nightstand, pulls her own blankets over her, curls onto her left side in the fetal position she sleeps in every night.

"Hey Lauren?"

"Mmm?"

"You smell _so_ good. Like gingerale, but without the bubbles."

Lauren feels the bed dip as Juliet edges closer, just enough that she can fling one of her arms around Lauren's waist.

Not long after, Juliet starts to snore, adorably, and all Lauren can think is that it's going to be a very long night.


	4. of mornings after

Juliet awakens in the middle of the night, nauseated and disoriented, but she doesn't really care because everything is just so _soft_. The bed is the softest she's ever been in, the down comforter above her is soft, the warm body next to her -she instinctively reaches out, flings her arm across her companion and nestles in closer – is soft too, she realizes, and her fingers splay across the swell of Lauren's hip and it's not Shawn like most of her was expecting, but she really doesn't mind, in the next thought. This is _Lauren_, who Carlton said thought she was _capable_, clever and pretty. What matters at the moment is that Lauren is soft, soft like the bed and soft like the blankets and she closes her eyes, turns her face in against the other woman's ginger-scented hair, and goes back to sleep.

When actual morning comes, Juliet wakes alone in the vast softness of Carlton's bed, and she can hear the voices of the siblings, arguing.

"Shut up and drink your coffee, Carlton, I made it just the way you like it, with extra sugar to help the Excedrin go down." Lauren's voice is light, teasing.

There's a growly-unpleasantness in Carlton's voice when he answers. "I have house rules for a _reason_, Lauren. Do you know what number nine is?"

"Thou shalt not put any Carltons before thee?"

"No." A pause, then the clink of a coffee cup being slammed down on a tiled countertop. "No one sleeps in my bed but me. And those invited by me."

"You wouldn't wake up!" Lauren protests. "Besides…" and her voice softens, "Think of Juliet, Carlton, I couldn't let her sleep on the floor. I'd have done it but…"

"I know."

"No, you don't know, Carlton." There's a hint of panic in her voice. "She's a charming drunk, she was…telling me we should switch shirts, she was tracing the badge on my shirt so seriously and…"

"The badge on your shirt? She felt you up?" Carlton actually laughs.

"It's not funny," Lauren groans. "She told me I smelled good and she clung to me in my sleep and what am I supposed to do?"

"Never having been in that situation, I have no idea."

"It's your fault she's here."

"Granted. Actually, no, it's Shawn Spencer's fault she's here."

There's a long silence, and Juliet hears the sounds of Lauren getting herself a cup of coffee. "Didn't you say you'd shoot him if he hurt her? She seemed pretty hurt last night."

"She was. We both were. Lauren, I'm sorry I scolded you."

"Eh. I deserved it. Carlton? Does she know?"

"Know what?"

"That I like girls? That I like _her_?"

"…Lauren…"

Juliet listens to the other girl make a muffled shriek. "_Shit_, Carlton, you told her?"

"We're even, I guess."

"I…I can't…I'm going for a jog." Another clunk of discarded coffee cup, a slamming of doors, and the sound of Carlton walking down the hall.

Juliet panics, turns her face into the pillow, feigns sleep.

"Hey. Sleeping beauty," says Carlton, quite loudly, from the doorway, and Juliet whimpers, looks up at him.

"What time is it?" she asks.

He rolls his eyes. "Quarter of noon. Would you mind…would you…" he stammers awkwardly. "Would you mind not ever telling anyone about spending the night in my bed."

"Deal," Juliet says, yawning and stretching her legs. She props herself up on one elbow, frowns at her partner. "Carlton? Where's Lauren?"

A grin spreads slowly across Carlton's face. "Lauren, hmm?"

"I just wondered," and she feels herself flushing. "She was here when I went to sleep, is all."

"Mmm."

Her fingers twitch on one of the pillows. "Stop it." She picks it up and gestures as if she's going to fling it at Carlton, who raises one eyebrow, reaches over and opens the drawer of the nightstand, displaying a gun within.

"Touché," she replies, letting the pillow drop. "I'm sorry I became a drunken mess on your doorstep, Carlton."

"I figure it's Spencer's fault," and then another, brighter, grin. "He hurt you. I can shoot him. Or at least give him hell."

((He looks for all the world, Juliet thinks, like a kid on Christmas morning. A well-armed kid on Christmas morning with a hangover, granted, but she's never been great at metaphors.))


	5. of dangerous napping & lunchhours

Carlton doesn't even bother to knock; he simply opens the door, barges into the Psych office: startling Shawn Spencer enough to drop the spoon into the bowl of cereal he'd been eating and splash pinkish milk on his pyjama pants.

"I was expecting Jules," Spencer says, blinking about a dozen times, rapidly. "Hey, Lassie."

"Don't, don't _you_ 'Hey Lassie' me, you…" Carlton can't come up with anything vicious enough to call him, settles for flailing his hands rather desperately in the air, one coming to rest on the empty gun holster.

"Is this about Jules?"

"Of course this is about Jules!" Carlton's eyes are flashing, and he takes a step closer to Shawn, grabs at the back of his vintage tee-shirt, hauls him to his feet. "Why else would I bother to come _here_ of all places?"

Spencer's voice is small and incredibly tired. "She left me, Lassie. Don't forget that. She left me."

"Because you weren't respecting her, or taking her seriously, or…she's more than a pretty face, she's a strong woman and a good cop and _you_ took her for granted. And she deserves better than to spend the night drowning her sorrows in a bottle because she's been broken by the likes of you." He looks down his nose at the other man, scowls. "You are so. Pathetic."

"Wait a minute, no one calls me pathetic." Spencer takes a step closer to Carlton, attempting to be menacing. "I'm not pathetic, I had my heart broken too, did you ever think of that?"

"And remind me again why I should give a…" Carlton pauses for a moment, takes Shawn by the shoulders and flings him up against one of the office walls, holding him securely in place. "_Damn_ about your heart, Spencer." His face is so close their noses practically touch, his eyes flash blue and he watches as Spencer shivers, as his pupils dilate, and if he didn't know better he'd recognize the signs of arousal.

"Lassie. Lassie." Spencer swallows, reflexively. "Um. Promise me you won't look down. These sweatpants do nothing…"

Reflexively, Carlton's eyes drop to Shawn's crotch and then he's letting go of the other man quickly as if as if he were burnt. "That's disgusting."

Spencer shrugs. "Sometimes I like being manhandled." He says, off-handedly. "Sometimes I like…" He's got the element of surprise and he uses it, grabbing at the lapels of Carlton's jacket, flinging him up against the wall in turn, and his body follows through, pressing up against the other man. "You're going to shoot me anyways, you might as well have a good reason to do it." He kisses Carton, bruising crushingly hard: Carlton resists for a moment, then finds himself melting into the kiss, twining his arms around Spencer, pulling him closer.

…and it's curious because there's suddenly someone poking at his shoulder, another voice – a woman's voice – near to his ear, saying "Carlton, I have lunch if you wake up?"

He mutters something incomprehensible, lifts his head from where it rested on his folded arms on his desk, scowls at Juliet.

She flinches, recoils. "I'm sorry," she says, seeming genuinely upset, and Carton shakes his head.

"It's not your fault. " He accepts the cup of coffee she hands him, watches as she opens the tin-foil take-out carton containing their lunch. "I'm sorry."

"You've seemed out of sorts all day," Juliet points out, softly. "And Shawn's not shown his face around here in two days."

"Maybe that's the problem." He leans back in his desk chair, trying to get the kinks out of his back. "He's still on my mind…I owe him a lecture…I owe him a bullet in the back of the head, to be honest."

Juliet grins. "Oh, Carlton, he's not worth all that trouble."

"Always on my mind," he mutters, shakes his head, closes his eyes. Sure, and how many times _has_ he had variations on that particular dream in the years since he's known Spencer? (Not, he thinks, that it started with Spencer…before that it was that handsome officer in the mounted police, before that Nick Conforth and before that one of his classmates at UC Santa Barbara.)

He'd made the mistake of telling Victoria, and she'd gently nudged him in the direction of a special sort of therapist who specialized in 'fixing' those with his sort of 'problem'. He only lasted one session, lied to his wife about attending the rest, spent that missing hour every week guiltily sipping extra sweet lattes at a local coffee shop and trying not to notice the handsome barista's flirtations.

Lost in thought, he struggles upwards and outwards and meets Juliet's eyes over the foil container of Indian food. "Do you ever have dreams you wish you didn't? The kind that you don't realize are nightmares until you wake up and you're ashamed of where your mind went when you couldn't control it? Someone – something – always on your mind and you can't stand it and you're almost afraid to go to sleep?"

She blinks at him, thinking for a moment. "I've been thinking a lot about Miranda, lately. In Miami? She's…beautiful and strong and not afraid to be That Lesbian Cop. I couldn't ever handle being That Lesbian Cop." The capital letters are apparent in her voice, and Lassiter is startled by how their thoughts seem to dovetail in the same direction.

"It's wrong, right?"

Juliet scoffs. "For some people. For some people it's exactly right. Some people are built to handle things like that. Like Miranda. Like _Lauren_," and there's something affectionate in the way she says his sister's name that startles Carlton, although he doesn't mention it.

"Lauren's always been the bravest, the best of us." There's affection in Carlton's voice too: from a very young age he's been his baby sister's protector, guardian, advocate. "She's amazing. And…she never got the hard time my mother gave _me_…she was just little when mother came out and left and…"

"Your mother gave you a hard time?"

Carlton takes a huge bite of bread, stalling. "Of course," he says, finally. "She saw this part of me that I didn't want anyone ever to see, she knew because it was a part of her too, and…promise you won't tell anyone. It always follows you, like, wherever you go, no matter who you marry, there's that dark part of you that has those _thoughts_."

"There are worse things to have in that dark part of yourself," Juliet whispers, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. "There are worse things, Carlton. "

"I'm not sure there are," says Carlton, and he shakes his head. "We'd better hurry up and eat, lunch hour is almost over."


End file.
